Shape

The Pool at Night

Ninety degrees at 3 a.m.; the 24-hour resort pool shimmered in the heat and its artificial aquamarine light, visible through the flaps of our cabana. 

We were lying on a chaise lounge inside, warm breeze fluttering, our second round of rum and cokes sitting forgotten on the glass-topped table.

Mark’s fingers roved across the front of my bikini top, still wet from the pool. He fingered my nipples, making them erect, pressing through the thin white fabric. He untied the halter top, and down it fell, freeing my breasts altogether. He sucked my nipples harder still, unhooked the back, and tossed my top away. 

I had goose bumps as the breeze brushed my skin, and his fingers followed it. Across my tits, trailing down my belly.

He rubbed my pussy through my bikini bottom, slipped a finger around the side of the fabric, edged up inside me, and found my clit. Flicking it back and forth, he untied one side of my suit with his free hand, and then the other; slid it away like a magician would make a handkerchief vanish.

He knelt between my legs, spreading them. He watched my face as he pushed one finger, then another inside me, rubbing and probing both. I smiled and closed my eyes. It was so late now, this was almost like a dream.

Slowly, he worked his thumb into my asshole. I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle the cry I wanted to make when I came.

“Mmm, she likes.”

“She does,” I whispered.

He did it again. And again.

I was on fire, I was molten, melting.

Then he had his mouth against my pussy, his tongue inside me. He kept his thumb in my anus, and I moved against it and his tongue, moaning softly even though I was trying to be quiet.

There was just the distant sound of the ocean, the closer soft lapping of the pool outside the fluttering cabana curtains, the softer lapping of his tongue inside me – and me coming in a wave that roared, like the ocean had moved closer.

“Shh,” he cautioned me. “Security staff will be making rounds soon.”

I felt as liquid and dissolved as water. My breath caught in my throat. He was moving from tongue to finger to palm to tongue again inside me, and each time he did something new to me, touched a new spot, made me feel fuller and wetter. I ached in a delicious, don’t-stop-now way like I was going to burst. 

I wanted him to fuck me.

He kissed the top of my pussy and then dropped back on the lounger. When I could move again, I rolled on top of him, rubbing my tits across his firm chest, water from the pool clinging to his dark hair. I could feel how huge his cock was inside his swim trunks, and I dry humped him for a while, and then slipped my hand inside them to feel it, thick, warm, and hard. 

He gave a sharp intake of breath as I rubbed him between my palms, feeling him get harder still.

“Baby,” he said, kissing me, “wow.” 

I could taste myself on his tongue. I wanted him so bad, I could almost taste him, too.

I untied his trunks, and he stood up, dropping them; he reached in the pocket of his discarded shirt for something – a condom.

He tossed it to me, I tore it open with my teeth, and sat up, moving to the edge of the lounge, so I was between his legs.

I surprised him. I plunged his cock in my mouth, licking, sucking, tracing the rim with my tongue, thrusting him deep.

He groaned softly when I took my lips off him; then we unrolled the condom  over his dick together, fingers touching. 

We looked at each other, and laughed.

He pushed me down and flipped me easily onto my stomach. I tucked my knees up, and he took me doggy style, throbbing and pushing inside me, fingering my tits as they dangled there, pulling my nipples hard.

When we came – almost at once – it was electric, like a shock had rippled through water.

He pulled out; I lowered my knees, curled on my side, and he spooned around me, his fingers rubbing, pulling, and stroking my tits.

“You know what I like,” I said, my voice husky and low.

“I think I just might,” he whispered against my cheek.

To think we hadn’t even known each other at midnight.

***

I was in St. Pete Beach managing an Americana-type singer; she was playing for three nights in the lounge of this beautiful pink wedding cake of a resort – where they put us in one room, one bed, and I needed some space.

So, the pool at night. Midnight, frat boys splashing and drinking beer. Billboard magazine open on my lap.

They left, and the pool shimmered. Finally, alone. I dove into the pool — Nirvana.

When I came out, I found the towel stand devoid of towels. So, I called the number listed on the side of the counter. 

“Security. Is this an emergency?”

“No,” I said, confused. “I didn’t call security. I called about towels. I’m at the pool and – there are no towels.”

Something that sounded like a muffled laugh. “So, an emergency, then. I’ll be right there to rescue you.”

I went back in the pool and waited, not sure if I was amused or annoyed. It wasn’t my fault the pool stand number defaulted to security. 

I swam a few laps; still no one came. Maybe I could face the walk down the air-conditioned hotel corridors in a damp bikini. Maybe. I dove to the bottom.

When I came up again, the security guard was standing there. About 6’ 2” eyes of definite deep blue, military-looking beige uniform. I stepped out of the pool dripping, and wordlessly, he handed me a towel. He had several more towels tucked under his arm. 

The blue eyes crinkled merrily. “Best call I’ve had all night.”

I couldn’t help but smile back, conscious of him looking at my body in my bikini, wondering if my nipples were showing. I assumed they were. 

“Why does security do towel service?” I asked, just to stop him looking at me, although I kind of liked him looking, too. 

“Pool housekeeping had to go home early. So, security picked up the phones. I’m actually off-duty in ten minutes, felt like going for a swim.”

“That explains the many towels,” I said.

I wrapped myself, and went back to the cabana, picked up my magazine. I watched as he disappeared into the changing room, came out in bathing trunks that matched those eyes. Now it was my turn to take him in. Nice muscular body. No wedding ring.

He glanced back over at me. “Room service is still here. If I buy you a drink, will you come back in the water with me?”

I hesitated. 

“Don’t make a man swim alone.”

So, I took off the damp towel and dove in ahead of him, splashing. We spun around in the water for a while, kind of chasing each other, like kids, not talking, but our hands brushed occasionally, and once, maybe not on purpose, his hand touched my buttocks. I didn’t move away.

“I’m Mark,” he said.

“Julie,” I replied.

He asked what I wanted to drink, and I said rum and coke. 

Dripping, he swung out of the pool, dialed the house phone.

Turned in profile, I thought his dick was jutting out hard beneath those trunks. Because of me, I thought. I floated on my back, imagining him floating next to me, both of us naked.

When our drinks came, he took them into the cabana. I perched on the edge of the lounger he was sitting on to sip mine. Our arms, both wet, brushed. I felt a little thrill go down my body. I felt a little warm twitch inside my pussy. 

I wished I had my own room. 

Silly, I thought. All I know about him is his name.

As if he knew what I was thinking, he said, “I’m crazy attracted to you.”

“You’re cute, too,” I said.

We both set our glasses down.

Tentatively, he leaned closer. I drew closer, too.

He kissed me. It was a good kiss, firm, not too firm, just the hint of tongue. I didn’t want it to end. But when it did –

“I’ll admit, I was hoping you’d be cute, and maybe we’d take a swim, maybe we’d go out on the beach and take a walk – when the tide’s low like this, you can see little sparks rise up from the wet sand.”

“I’m not sure I know you well enough to go for a walk on a dark beach,” I said, skeptically. 

“Do you know me well enough to fuck me?”

“Not just yet,” I said. 

It didn’t matter what I knew or didn’t know, other than I wanted to, and I would. I just wanted to make him wait, and me wait, just a little.

We drank the drinks, shared some more kisses, each one longer, deeper, sweeter. He ordered another round.

“Tell me about you,” he said, lying back on the lounge. 

“California girl. Music manager. On tour.”

“Single?”

“Yeah, at the moment.”

“Me, too. I was engaged. We had a restaurant together.”

“A restaurant.”

“Italian.”

“And?”

“And nothing, just Italian.”

I laughed. “I meant, and, so what happened?”

“Restaurant failed, we failed, now I work here. And go swimming with pretty young women after midnight.”

“Fair enough.”

“And kiss pretty young women.”

“Lots of them?”

“Okay, so you’re the first.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Two weeks.”

“Not a bad record.”

“Not bad at all.”

I stretched out on the lounge chair next to him. “Why don’t you kiss me again?”

So, he did.